Friday, July 5, 2013

A Night of Remembrance

Last night, our family found itself doing something a bit
different from the traditional pastimes most Americans engage in on the Fourth
of July. We were driving home from our state’s capital, where we had been
attending a conference focusing on home education.

As an introduction to one of the last sessions of the
evening, the organizers had arranged for someone to read, for those assembled,
the entire text of the Declaration of Independence.

While we make much of those lofty words in acknowledgement
of the day, I doubt there have been many, of late, who have actually taken the
time to read the document from beginning to end. And yet, on the very day—well,
the purported day—honoring the framing of these words, we have so many unaware
of the history that backs the celebration.

On the drive home—by now, beyond sunset, and moving into
that “just right” time period designed to handsomely showcase such events—we
were treated to spectacular bursts of light and color as community after community
launched their fireworks displays (and not a few neighborhoods and individuals
joined in the pyrotechnic chorus). By the time we exited the freeway, we were
clamoring to see more, so we drove to a just-completed overpass near our home,
where we pulled over on the shoulder, parked and enjoyed the three-sixty view.

The law had just changed in our county. People can now
purchase fireworks for themselves, and believe me, they were taking full
advantage of that freedom. All along the horizon, the multitude of bursts of
light were witness to that change. The awe of the spectacular view of one
well-funded and government-authorized production was now supplanted by lesser,
though multiplied displays. Fireworks were exploding everywhere.

There is just something about this holiday—this
“Independence Day” acknowledgement—that takes my mind back to that point in history
when that Declaration was drawn up—and to what that document initiated.

I can’t help but think of my own family’s link to the dire
circumstances of that era—of course, ruefully recalling the D.A.R. application
I’ve long promised myself to complete—and how these many fireworks displays
last night somehow link us with that other period in history.

While in my school days, I never was a fanatic of the study
of history—and I doubt the majority of Americans are, even today. Yet, I can’t think
of a holiday (or any day, for that matter) which serves more to recall to the
public’s mind the historical roots we share as a nation.

The Fourth of July represents a day that reminds us
collectively to turn to our roots, our history, to remember. It reminds us that
there is value in remembering the details of what happened in bygone years.

I never thought a holiday could do that so much. I’ve always
seen “The Fourth” as a day to get together with friends and family, to have a
barbecue, to go see the sights of a spectacular fireworks display.

But history?

Who pays any mind to history any more?

And yet, there it was, all along: that tap on the shoulder
that calls us to not only remember, but value that very remembrance, itself.

Holidays aren’t just for celebrating.

They are also about remembering.

And remembering is a call to return to our roots.

Note: If you are one of those readers who regularly check this blog first thing every day, my apologies for missing our morning appointment--and for any cause for alarm that absence might have triggered. If you had remembered my family's health crisis and my note that, should I not be here, you'd "know what happened," I want to emphatically--and gratefully--acknowledge that nothing of that sort was what kept me from posting in time for our morning visit. Rather, it was an hours-long difficulty my Internet provider was struggling with that prevented me from accessing the online resources I normally connect with early in the morning. For whatever reason, what was not available for several hours, beginning late last night through dawn here, is now back up and running. Thank you for your patience in the meantime!

It's strange to me that I never "got" history, even disliked it, until I took up genealogy. Now history is real to me. So I can really relate to what you are saying. I would listen to a reading of the entire Declaration today, and I believe I would even understand it!

Mariann, I totally relate to that. It's the family history aspect that allows us to cultivate that sense of connection with our collective past. That's why I've always been an advocate of interjecting genealogy into schools' approach to teaching history. That relational method of allowing young students to see an episode in history in terms of "that's the war my grandfather fought in" seems to make those previously dull recitation of facts come alive for students.

I sometimes wonder if school districts hired the "Joy Police" to kill every shred of fascination in history, from the middle grades on up. If it weren't for seeing my own family through the lens of history, I'd have given up on that academic discipline long ago.

I agree with both of you and experienced the same when I was a child. My children began that way, too, but we made a concerted effort to tie their history school lessons to someone in the family. As Mariann says, genealogy turned their boredom into engagement and sparked many a lively conversation around the table.

Jacqi, glad you all had such a great time last night. I've been a bit silent lately (for good things) but have been reading and enjoying your latest series - and getting inspired to try some new things! Take care.

Linda, so glad to see you back, but totally understand--and am glad to hear it was owing to good things!

I'm also glad that all of us here comprise part of a group of people who have learned--despite school day disappointments--to appreciate not only the stories but the lessons of history, both personal and national.

Besides English, History was the only subject I *could* relate to. It was Geography I couldn't *get*. It's funny how all these connect now to what we do - what we love. I no longer live in the U.S. but I still silently - and proudly celebrate the American holidays and take pride in the country my great grandfather loved so much.

Happy belated 4rth! Sounds like you spent the holiday the way it was meant to be spent - reflecting.

Nuccia, thanks for your comment, and for stopping by! It is interesting the common roots Americans and Canadians share, just as you said. I've found the same, tracing my husband's Irish roots.

Quite a while ago, I was on a music tour in Canada which included being away from home on the Fourth of July. In one way, I felt forlorn over not being home for the Fourth. Yet, in another way, meeting and getting to know several Canadian friends has given me a lifelong tendency to not only remember the Fourth for my own benefit, but the First for my friends' Canada Day as well. I hope yours was splendid!

I have always enjoyed history. Not the rote memorization of dates - but the events - and trying to comprehend the motivations and thoughts of those doing whatever they did during the "event".

One thing that has baffled me is this:

Imagine being a farm boy from nowhere in say Georgia, marching with General Robert E Lee's army - you are in Harper's Ferry (the scene of John Brown's ill-fated raid) where you have won a "great victory" when your unit is called to make an emergency march to a great battle at Antietam approximately 17 miles away in mid-September 1862.

What goes through the young man's head as he walks laden with heavy gear and rifle to a battle where he might well be killed? ...and for what reason does he do this?

The psychology behind the history makes for all the fascinating stories that bring history to life! That's why knowing one particular person's story helps answer questions like that, Iggy. Sometimes I wonder if that is why there is suddenly all this interest in ephemera, or in random discoveries of diaries in antique stores--and strangers transcribing them and posting them online.

It may all come down to the fact that we're tired of memorizing names and dates and sitting down pat and convincing ourselves that that is "history." It isn't. There is so much more to know. As much drama as is in life is in history.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.